Diary of Anonymous
by Black Archivist
Summary: The memoirs of the nameless ones. It gives us the workings and thoughts of a nameless demigod
1. Chapter 1

**Notice: I don't own the world this was set in since that was conceptualized by Mr. Rick Riordan. I do own the plot and the non-canon characters. If it won't be much of a bother please do review. Thank you for taking the time to open or read this have a nice day/afternoon/evening.**

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I was born cursed just like the rest of my kind. We didn't ask for any of this. We never asked for burdens and losses accompanied by the thought that today may be our last before we die a gruesome death. They say we were born to be heroes and achieve greatness, but I beg to differ. Not all of us are that lucky. Most of us are cannon fodder sacrificed for the glory of the gods we are obligated to serve. We are slaves of gods who would not even blink if we died fighting for their cause as our names sink in anonymity and we become but one word; casualties.

We were just like you once upon a time. We had parents who were tasked to raise us. Some may have done a better job than others, but that was the bit of normalcy we were gifted. It was the bit of humanity that set us apart from being tools of war and conquest. Friends, families, loved ones who carry the curse of having us, the curse of never finding peace from all the chaos that hounds us. We are prisoners condemned to shackle those we love and watch the world burn as we fall one by one.

Oh joy, another quest, another death sentence given out to give glory for mothers and fathers who might not even remember our names. Another show for them to watch while we bleed hoping they'd be amused enough to send any form of help and have mercy on us. Who would it be this time? Little Bobby who is afraid of the dark or perhaps Sophie who never fought in her life? Maybe it's Jamie who grew up in the streets lucky enough to find this safe haven only to be sent out to the cruel world outside once more? It doesn't matter to them. Seeing these three naïve children head out in pursuit of glory and recognition with hopeful smiles on their faces is the worst… I don't know if it's seeing them happy or having them come back broken one way or the other. In the end it doesn't matter. Our gods have no mercy. Our gods are dead.


	2. Chapter 2

It's been about three years since the last war; three years since we burned the corpses of brothers and sisters beneath funeral shrouds as their souls made their journey to the underworld. Three years since our generation's greatest heroes and possibly the greatest heroes of all time rose up and became symbols of hope for us. Perseus Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Jason Grace, Piper McLean, Frank Zhang, Hazel Levesque, and Leo Valdez, these are the names that have become immortalized and loved not just by us but by gods and probably generations to come. They will be remembered as the seven and become legends passed on for their heroism, bravery, and determination as well as their great feats. They do not deserve anything short of this recognition. It's the least they deserve for all they lost.

Then there's us, the expendables, the canon fodder, the foot soldiers fighting under the banners of our heroes. It was hard to be on our own without the so called gods. It was rather upsetting really. Here we are fighting their battles while they hid in their mountaintop safe and sound. We watched as brothers, sisters, lovers fall while we fought. I still have nightmares watching them die. I saw Lee Fletcher get smashed by the giant and being frozen unable to shoot the arrow that could've saved him. I saw him and keep seeing his horror filled face while everything played in slow motion in an endless loop. At times it would change to that time where Michael Yew was washed away by the currents never to be seen again. Then at times I see Silena Beauregard , the one who lost her lover to her own treason and redeemed herself by fighting on the battle field with us. I forgot which war killed which but I can remember their faces as they struggled. I can remember the countless nameless demigods like me who were far too young to die, I can remember the nameless ones who were simply described as "Son/Daughter of _" or "the kid from _ cabin" or, the most painful of them all "The unclaimed demigod".

I can feel my heart ache with the pang of grief as my pen moves across the page drawing their faces the best I could and writing their names hoping that somehow.. somehow.. they would at least be more than just the "_ kid", and that even if they don't get the same treatment as our messiahs they'd somehow be remembered. I recall the faces of the brothers and sisters that I grew up with in this camp, the friends, the acquaintances, and even the less friendly demigods who lived with us. I recall the sound of their laughter and the smiles painted by the light of the bonfire as we sang silly tunes we'd otherwise be ashamed to sing. I recall the smell of fresh strawberries and the mildly humid air. I remember the cold mornings and at times cold showers after a game of capture the flag. I remember our spirits being lifted at the end of the war. Most of all I remember the grief and loneliness that hung over our hearts as we buried what we could of our dead brethren.

Still I wonder, would demigods like us. Ordinary, ungifted, demigods who had a less than legendary tale to tell. Demigods who'd die in the front lines. Demigods who may never be anything more than a face in the background of legends be remembered. Will we be mourned? Will these gods we died serving even notice us? Will they remember how we fought for them. Will we at least be a dot in the canvas of history? We'll never know I guess. We probably never will. We'll never be remembered by those that take our place in this struggle we call life. We will never be remembered by these self-serving gods we begrudgingly have to call our parents. Never.


	3. Chapter 3

Peace, a five letter word, a dream, a beautiful lie. Peace never lasts long with us. It never has and probably never will. Not even the Great Percy Jackson would change that. Not even the self proclaimed gods who seem to have nothing better to do than let their loins do all the thinking.

They say that gods take power from those that believe in them and are therefore molded by them. These gods changed a lot and stayed pretty much the same through out the ages. They became Greek, Roman, and now the Americanized version which wasn't really any better. There's the unfaithful and rather shamelessly prolific husband, the aesthetically challenged nerd, the prideful and high and mighty warrior, the jealous wife, the ignored homebody; the list goes on and on and on and on. They're all stuck in their own stereotypes. It's like being told the same old joke over and over but somehow still finding the irony funny. Gods acting like extremely petty and overpowered mortals.

Another quest, another show for their entertainment and I'm one of the "lucky" demigods to be chosen and sent to the mercy of monsters. Fun right? You get to see us run and dance with danger as we fight for our lives and some would say, "how cool would it be to beat the crap out of monsters and get cool powers". With me is Barry, a son of Hermes with bright blue eyes, messy nest of chocolate colored hair, lightly tanned and freckled skin, and the dream of becoming on of coming back to camp a hero. Next to him his Kimberly, a shy girl born of Demeter. Chesnutt colored hair framing a dainty face decorated with an anxious expression while her amber colored eyes seemed to be fixed on the earth. They seem to be no older than thirteen. I hardly knew them, but there is one fact that I've established; I must make sure they come back safely.

They each had one bead on their necklace. One bead to commemorate making it through a year of training and monsters looking at you with something in the line of the word "dinner" in mind. I don't know if Chiron feels guilt creeping through his veins every time he has to send kids who have their lives ahead of them on a quest that will most likely just be the result of gods being bored out of their immortal minds. I have to question why they didn't send more seasoned demigods on this quest instead of greenhorns who could die in the first 24 hours outside the safety of camp. Still this could be serious. Emphasis on the word could. Reluctantly I grabbed the pack containing a small vial of nectar and a tiny bar of Ambrosia that fit in the palm of my hand with room to spare. This is something I guess. They can't really spare any more for small-fries like us. After all, this quest is supposed to be easy. Drive away monsters and get something from the big bad at the other edge of town, Apollo's Lyre or something like that. With just a blink of an eye and another prophecy our seemingly false sense of tranquility evaporated like morning dew.

Peace is fragile. Peace is fleeting. Peace is lost.


	4. Chapter 4

Seconds turn into minutes, minutes turn into hours, hours turn into days. We've been travelling for days and our food supply is disappearing faster than we could find more scraps to sustain ourselves. I've been giving half my rations to the kids and I am nor sure if we can go on with this onslaught much longer. It's like The Hunger Games except we are chased by a plethora of freaks of nature whose traits range from steely skins and claws to bad breath that can make you keel over instead of normal people that would be far easier to terminate if you don't think of them as people. Reminds me of a book I read a few years back entitled the Lucifer Effect wherein I found out one idea that stuck in my mind for the next 5 years of my life; people become capable of doing inhuman things when they stop seeing their enemies as people.

Maybe this is why the gods could do things like this without any remorse, to them we aren't people. Then again what right do I have to question the divine when I myself don't see their entirety, their history.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when I felt a trembling hand hesitantly tap my shoulder.

"Hey, um.. we ran out of water," murmured Kim fidgeting the hems of her blouse

"I'll take care of it. Make sure you two stay together and avoid monsters at all costs," I replied rising to my feet stepping away from our makeshift camp with empty canisters in hand and a deck of Celestial Bronze playing cards I commissioned from the Hephaestus Cabin a few years back. I hiked a few meters into the forest silently praying to no one in particular that they'd be alright and I'd be lucky enough to get back without running into a hungry monster.

I filled the canisters to the brim at a water fountain in the park and made my way back to our little camp. Seeing them okay made me feel a bit hopeful. Maybe we'd get back to camp and celebrate a victory burning offerings to gods of our choice as we reclaim our small sliver of peace. That hope was snuffed out the very next day. We were surrounded and hunted like animals with nowhere left to run or hide. We had to fight. We had no choice.

I saw Barry and Kim desperately trying to hack a hellhound down to size while I covered their blind sides and threw cards at monsters and effectively detonating and decapitating or amputating these horrors of nature. We fought until we found a way to escape. We were hungry, tired, and above all terrified that we may never make it back. Still we pushed on. We kept moving til we found the "divine" object the gods ever so kindly asked us to procure.

I just wish I knew that the sound of wind chimes dancing in the air was no different than the beating of our hearts, a death toll.


	5. Chapter 5

I was and never will be a hero, but I've been around long enough to see them broken or come back on a shield. I saw the Seven come back as broken pieces of the people they once were rebuilding and redefining themselves as well as countless demigods like Michael Yew, Lee Fletcher, Silena Beauregard, Charles Beckendorf , and Luke Castellan return as corpses to be thrown into the pyre.

Our quest was almost complete. We could taste the sweetness of success as Barry pulled the artifact from its place. We could almost come home.

From all my previous quests I should've known that it seemed too easy and anticlimactic, but I guess I could never learn to stop hoping. With that quick motion we were trapped in a cage with the stench of death and menacing fangs and eyes glinting with malice surrounding us. It took only a brief moment until our world erupted into chaos and the standstill between us and the beasts was broken. We fought trying our best to bring back this "divine" trinket and end this chapter for a twisted show for the gods. Blood. Blood mixed with the golden dust that signaled the defeat of one enemy and the damage we sustained from fending them off. We tried to shake them off but their vast numbers and the general lack of experience of our small team made the task difficult and almost impossible. We still kept on trying. I could see the look of weariness on their young faces as we struggled to stay alive.

"There's no shame in running," I murmured while I dropped to the floor bleeding in too many places to count. We were outnumbered and severely outmatched and there was only one last sliver of hope for us. I got back on my feet and tried to focus the attention of all the monsters to myself and it was working.

"THIS IS WHAT YOU WANT RIGHT?!" I yelled as I raised a bag that presumably contained the artifact. They crowded towards me giving the others enough leeway to move out of harm's way as I mouthed the word run and threw the entire deck in the air and my world slowly faded in an explosion of white and gold.

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I guess... I'll never know if it were a success as I fade into the white background and I'll forever be

Anonymous


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